The Fall of Rome: Elysian Fields
by iloveLuLu
Summary: Reeling from the shock of Modo's sister's death Rimfire and Primer come to earth to heal. Charley finds a companion and everyone's world is thrown when an old nemesis comes to Limburger's aid. And no one is prepared for who he brings with him. Part 1
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own the Biker Mice from Mars and make no money from this. I do not own any of the characters or any of their trademark quotes. I also do not own any of the recognisable names, characters or any of the other registered trademarks mentioned in this story either. It's just a story for fun and no copyright infringement is intended. This disclaimer remains throughout the story.

**A/N:** The story is a bit darker than the series. Limburger is a little more evil this time and less incompetent, because let's face it; if he's a fool, he makes the bros look bad for not being able to take him out earlier. And nobody makes the Biker Mice look bad. There is also some minor bad language, (please people, this is war) violence, and death (mostly of limburger's goons and plutarkian soldiers). But, you have been warned...

This story will also involve some mention of sex and adult themes. Please decide if this is appropriate for you to read.

**Rating: M** (This is more to cover later chapters. But, as always exercise your own discretion.)

Finally, please bear with me, the first two introductory chapters might be a little bit slower than the rest!

**Very last A/N I promise!** This story is dedicated to the fantastic Inuficcrzy, firstly, for all her help in answering my many questions (And I'm not kidding! You should see how many questions I had! And with the patience of a saint, she answered ALL of them!) and secondly for all her encouragement, editing suggestions and friendship. So Inuficcrzy, this is for you, you really are amazing! Thank you for everything. I really hope you like it, hon! xx Lou

_The Fall of Rome: Elysian Fields_

Chapter One: Broken Heart

"I'm real sorry. I know, believe me, I know, there's nothing that I can say to make this any easier, Big Fella."

The small beaten table held a small and even more beaten-looking visual communicator. The screen showed a dark brown furred mouse dressed in khaki trousers. His jacket had long since had the sleeves ripped from it and it hung open over his tight beige t-shirt as he leaned forward towards the screen with his hands clasped between his knees as he peered earnestly into the communicator. At his feet his mechanical tail clicked as it curled. His face was tired and there were lines on Stoker's face and a few greying flecks in the dark brown muzzle that hadn't been there last time Stoker had seen his friend. But war did that to a body. Constant war made the effects much worse.

Stoker leaned away from communicator's screen perched on the table in front of him, listening for any possible interruptions into a conversation he never wanted to have. No sound. Absolute silence. The room around him held only the chair he currently occupied and the dilapidated table in front of him. The stone walls behind him made the whole room seem even more oppressive despite the liberal space. The only other feature of the room was a large glass window where Mars's majestic red desert rolled on as far as the eye could see. A blur of red sand against the thick black backdrop.

The Martian Freedom Fighter's headquarters was eerily quiet that night. But this was one of the few blessings Stoker had had for quite some time. He had learned to take good luck in any form, from a quiet base, to simply seeing another nightfall. You just never knew when your luck was going to run out.

And a quiet base tonight was going to make this conversation a little easier. Marginally. Delivering bad news never got easier, no matter how much practice you got doing it. And he'd sure had the practice. But nothing prepares you to deliver the news to one of your closest friends.

He had fought his damnedest to give his friend the news in person, to be there for his friend. But it just hadn't been possible. Lack of ammo, hostile space between Mars and Earth, and the fact that he didn't have a working ship had left him with no other option but a temperamental vid com and the hope that his friend knew that Stoker wanted to be there with him.

His long dark hair fell into his eyes as Stoker watched the grey furred mouse at the Earth end of the conversation. Modo's face was drawn with shock and grief warring over his usually placid features. The new had hit the other mouse hard.

On the other end of the communicator, in the United States' city of Chicago, Modo swallowed hard, as he gazed unseeingly at the small beaten communicator on the table in front of him. His jaw was set and his one eye left unobscured by the black eye patch was fierce and no tears fell. The only sign of the grey furred mouse's suffering was the bob of the chest plate that partially covered the strong, muscular chest as it rose and fell at a rapidly. He gazed unseeingly at the Mars end where Stoker sat. His brain felt slow, like everything was passing in slow motion. The air just wouldn't get into his lungs. She couldn't just die. She just couldn't. Stoker must have had it wrong. His beautiful, compassionate, and above all, gentle, sister couldn't die. She couldn't just be another statistic, another casualty of war between Mars and rival planet, Plutark.

The yellow panel on Modo's chest plate bobbed at an increasing pace. Stoker realised that his giant friend was not going to hold up much longer. He debated briefly whether he should give the poor mouse any more details and decided to spare Modo, opting for the abridged version. The whole truth was not always the best option.

"You should know though, she wasn't alone when she passed, and she knew that you were thinking of her." Stoker continued softly, outlining the incident: that she had been caught in an ambush. Parts of bomb shrapnel had torn through her leg and torso, which had become infected and she had succumbed. He left out the horrific extent of the injury that had led to her leg being amputated, or that the dilapidated field hospital lacked even the most basic medicines and pain killers.

Or that she never stood a chance.

Stoker had meant the words to be kind and comforting, but instead they twisted like a dagger in Modo's gut. He hadn't been thinking about his sister at all. It had been ages since he had spoken to her, or any of his family for that matter. Modo and his bros were getting complacent. They were safe down here on Earth compared with the horrors facing loved ones at home on Mars. He should have been up there. He was needed up there. Guilt tore through him. Four whole years had passed since Modo and his bros had crash landed on Earth, and sure, there had been a plutarkian, Lawrence Limburger, hell bent on stripping Earth's natural resources like the plutarkians had done to Mars, but it was just the one. Just one, when there had been legions of plutarkians unleashed on Mars. And after four years shouldn't they have whipped Limburger's sorry ass by now? Maybe the Biker Mice weren't really as good as they thought, if it had been four years and counting, and still they weren't rid of that damn Limburger.

Stoker grimace in sympathy for his friend's loss. His heart was breaking for the grey mouse, whose own heart was the biggest and warmest Stoker had ever encountered. And if this pain wasn't enough, there was one more matter left for Stoker to address. But, then the pain he was inflicting on Modo could stop. "Bro, there's another matter I need to discuss with you, if you're up for it?" Modo didn't respond, so Stoker continued. "It's Rimfire. He's really not doing well. I know it's tough to lose your mother, but his grandmother, your own mama, is at her wits end. She's struggling to deal with her daughter's passing, but to deal with a loose cannon grandson is too much. I was thinking maybe of sending both Rimfire and his sister to Earth to be with you guys for a while, waddya think?"

Modo's eye met his mentor's for a moment as the grey mouse tried to pull himself together. "If you think it would help." Modo replied, trying to force some sort of emotion into his deep voice. He knew the guilt he felt right now would be nothing compared to the pain of actually seeing his niece and nephew's faces with the knowledge that he hadn't done a damn thing to try and help...

But Stoker was still talking.

"...They're on the next ship, then. Keep 'em with you as long as you need, Rimfire's cleared for... well let's just call it an 'extended holiday' shall we?" Stoker smiled slightly, hoping to coax something close to a smile out of Modo, and failing. "I think it would help get some life back into Primer too... hey she's turning into a pretty good medic, you know?" Stoker tried once again to lighten the conversation. Modo nodded once and then leaned forward and snapped off the monitor screen ending the conversation. His grey shoulders drooped and his ears sagged under the emotional onslaught; shame, guilt, grief and self-doubt. Did his sister blame him for not being there when she died? Blame him for not coming back to Mars? No answers now. He knew what it was to lose kin and friends close to him. He'd even lost girls in the past. But romantic break ups came equipped with a different sort of pain and Modo had been more philosophical about it. _Always more fish in the sea, it just wasn't meant to be, _or_ it was her loss_, that sort of thing, although admittedly, that last one was his mother's perpetual retort. And he'd always had his bros to fall back on, and a tight-knit family. But losing his sister was a whole new type of pain. This was Modo thought, the very definition of heartbreak.

"Damn it." He growled. The communicator jumped with the force of his fist slamming down on the table.

Tears began to leak from his one remaining eye, tracking their way down his face and leaving tell-tale dark grey stains in his fur.

The chair scraped on the cold concrete floor as Modo pushed his chair back from the table and stumbled from the room.

"Where are you heading, bro?" Vinnie looked up from his hand of cards curiously as Modo staggered into the scoreboard's main room. Since crashlanding on earth, the Quigley Stadium scoreboard had made an impromptu hideout for the Modo and his bros. But it was small for the trio and personal space was a limited.

Modo didn't respond, just grunted on his way past before pushing the door open to the metal balcony outside. Behind him, the door slammed shut. Grasping hold of the guardrail that ran around the metal balcony, Modo clutched it like a dying man to a life raft.

All Modo could do now was wait. Wait for his niece and nephew to arrive. Wait to tell them just how sorry he was that he hadn't been there for his family when they needed him. Wait for their forgiveness because, God knows, they would forgive him far sooner than he would forgive himself. Then wait for Stoker's next call. Wait for the next catastrophe to take a loved one on Mars. Just wait, wait, and wait.

Behind him the city night light bounced off the Nubs scoreboard at Quigley Stadium.

Watching the grey furred mouse leave, Vinnie's dark red eyes swung back to his card partner's face questioningly. The tan-furred mouse opposite him shrugged one shoulder and laid down two cards. The small light in the room glinted off the tan mouse's earrings and green shades that he wore regardless of time of day. His long caramel coloured hair fell gently around his ears and red antenna, giving him a windswept-yet-dangerous look. His well-defined chest and shoulders were exposed by a tight black sleeveless leather vest that hung open to the waist. Stretching his hands back behind his head, Throttle propped his dark blue jean legs on the table crossing them at the ankles.

"Guess he'll talk when he wants." Throttle murmured in his soft husky voice, referring to their grey furred friend.

Vinnie looked doubtful, but nodded. Throttle was usually right. It was a talent that fluctuated between being one of his best qualities and one of his most annoying.

"Got any sevens?"

Vinnie shook his head, snickering "Go fish," as he laid down his own pair of sevens.

...

The sound of footfalls echoed loudly around the deserted Martian Army base. Three figures hurried down the corridor that led to one of the disused hangers. All around them, the balmy Martian night pressed closer.

"Come on you two! What are you waiting for, a written invitation from the Martian army? I promise it's not coming." Stoker barked, hurrying the two mice beside him. The three of them would have stood out as the only mice not dressed in army fatigues, in their Freedom Fighter gear. But for that to happen, there had to first _be_ some Martian soldiers in army fatigues present. And there weren't.

Lady Luck occasionally smiled graciously on Stoker.

The main corridor branched into two different, smaller corridors. Taking the left one, the three mice headed towards the older hanger. The sounds of their footsteps reverberated off the cold stone walls and concrete flooring.

The corridor in front of them opened into a ship hanger. Stoker motioned for the two mice to wait while he braced himself into the entrance and scanned the hanger, pistol poised in case of sentries.

He didn't like the idea of having to pull a weapon on another mouse, even as an empty threat. But it was imperative that Rimfire and Primer get off planet and quickly. The good ol' Martian general was none too happy with Rimfire as it was. He had now twice attacked the Plutarkian base without orders - from the Martian general or from Stoker, and without backup. His stunts had put the plutarkian forces on hyper vigilance, destroying any chance for the Martian army to attack and catch the base unawares. This had meant huge setbacks in strategic planning for the Martian army, and a pair of constantly ringing ears for Stoker, each time General Carbine had chewed him out for his increasingly unmanageable freedom fighter.

And Rimfire had done this twice in less than five days.

Despite the tongue lashings he was copping, Stoker was still sympathetic to the poor kid's situation. After Rimfire's first attack, Stoker had cornered Rimfire and spoken sternly to the younger mouse, half out of wounded pride that Stoker hadn't even known Rimfire had gone to attack the base, and had had to find out second-hand from Carbine, and half out of pure fear that the kid could have gotten himself killed.

"...which wouldn't help anything. And now I look stupid, since Carbine has to tell _me_, what _my_ freedom fighters are up to." Stoker had said arms crossed over his chest. "Come on, Rimfire, normally you'd know better than that."

Rimfire's head sagged and his antenna drooped – a mannerism so like his uncle Modo's that Stoker had to fight a smile. But this was serious. If Stoker couldn't trust the kid to follow orders, then Rimfire was no use to the Freedom Fighters or army alike.

When Rimfire finally lifted his head, his eyes were shining with the tears he wouldn't let himself cry. His face was a mixture of utter humiliation at breaking down and gut-wrenching pain. The anger left Stoker.

"Oh, kid, come here." He muttered reaching forward and hauling the fawn coloured mouse into his arms.

"Sorry, Stoke." Rimfire hiccupped as the tears he had been repressing fell. "I just miss her so m...much."

Stoker patted Rimfire's brown hair, the orange racing stripe down the centre of the kid's hair bobbed with Stoker's movement. The kid was only nineteen, after all. "I know, kid. Leave Carbine to me, just don't do it again, okay? But, next time you feel the need to pulverise plutarkian, think: that's Stoker's ass on the line."

Rimfire had nodded against Stoker's shoulder. "I don't know what's wrong with me." He muttered pulling away and wiping his eyes. "I just don't feel like me anymore."

And then the kid had gone and attacked the damn base again, not even five days later.

Stoker was running out of options. General Carbine had initially been sympathetic, but her patience was short and now she was just plain pissed off with the rebellious freedom fighter.

To be fair, Rimfire's second attack had caused a certain degree of damage to the plutarkian base, but it was nowhere near the scale of damage the army would have wrought, if the army plans hadn't been interrupted. Thus, in actual fact, all Rimfire's actions had really done was renew tension between the Martian Army and Stoker's Freedom Fighters. And now, more than ever, they really needed to be all on the same side.

In the previous couple of weeks the plutarkians had been calling for reinforcements, soldiers, supplies, weaponry, transport, you name it, they were unloading from the massive transport ships. Not that they had needed half the reinforcements they had brought. They already had the Martian mice on the back foot as it was. But now the plutarkians were going to overwhelm the mice population entirely. In the face of such overwhelming opposition and inevitable annihilation, old rivalries had to be shelved. Thus: the truce between the Martian Freedom Fighters and the Martian Army.

And now Stoker was about to test the strength of the tenuous armistice yet again by stealing an army ship. Very smooth, he had thought.

"Besides," he had said to the twins earlier that evening when he had arrived at their grandmother's apartment and outlined his plan to them, "'stealing' is such an ugly word, let's just think of it as the 'continued and permanent borrowing of someone else's ship'?" and had chuckled, envisioning the good general's face when she realised what had happened.

And it would take her no time to pin Stoker as the culprit and then she and Stoker would be back to their mutual antipathy.

Ah, let the good times roll, Stoker thought wryly.

But sometimes rocking the hypothetical boat was necessary, even if it meant the end of the fragile Freedom Fighter and Martian Army alliance. Particularly so, if it meant that Rimfire got out of hot water with the Martian Army, and General Carbine would then stop hauling Stoker's hide over hot coals. And if it meant that while Stoker couldn't be there for Modo, he could send the grey mouse something that would comfort him more that Stoker's presence possible could. The rest of his family.

Rimfire needed to be with family right now, too. And family meant a quick ride through hyperspace to Earth. The only problem was that the freedom fighters lacked spaceships, thus, the late night visit to the Martian army base to 'permanently borrow' a ship.

The long rectangular hanger was dark. Across the massive hanger from the entrance were two heavy doors large enough to allow ships to pass through and onto the runway beyond. It made obvious sense to take a ship closest to the exit. It also gave the three mice the advanced warning if anyone else entered the hanger since they would have to cross the huge room to get to them.

Small LED lights lit the floor and walls illuminating exits and vague outlines of ships. Scanning the hanger, revealed what Stoker had expected: the hanger was unguarded and they were alone. The ships in this hanger were so outdated that it was a waste of manpower to guard them. Each of the dark orange ships was a similar shape to the Earth Hercules, and similarly to the earth vessel, were transport carriers. But the Martian counterparts were infinitely faster and more advanced to adequately undertake space travel.

And at least forty years outdated. But they should still fly, albeit slowly.

"This'll do, kids." Stoker whispered and pointed at the dark orange ship closest to the great doors and runway beyond them. "In you go!"

The taller of the two mice glared at Stoker. "We aren't kids anymore, we're nearly twenty you know?"

The dark brown mouse rolled his eyes as he jimmied the door open. It made a whooshing noise as the door slid open. "You'll always be a kid to me, Rimfire."

The fawn coloured mouse laughed as he shot Stoker the bird but quickly set about checking the ship and prepping it for flight. After a minute he mouthed "all clear" to Stoker and a quick thumbs-up.

"Good. We're running outta time, and if we get caught, we're going to head rapidly up a certain creek without a paddle."

Stoker glanced again at the entrance they had come through. Fortunately it was still empty, but it was unlikely to stay that way for long, if he knew the general. And Stoker did indeed, know the general.

Rimfire grasped Stokers brown furred hand in his fawn one hand. "Thanks, Stoke." Rimfire smiled. "And, uh, thanks in advance for dealing with Carbine for me. Know that won't be pleasant." Stoker smiled lopsidedly at the younger mouse and pulled him into an embrace.

"That doesn't matter, okay? Just don't do anything stupid, understand kid?"

"Yeah, yeah," Rimfire muttered, his voice muffled. He was still caught in Stoker's embrace, his face pressed to the older mouse's shoulder. "The whole 'don't do anything I wouldn't do'."

Stoker chuckled, "No, I said _don't_ do anything stupid. We all know I do plenty of stupid things." That won a laugh from the young mouse.

"They've got names, Stoke." Rimfire replied, his face deadpan. Stoker felt his jaw touch the ground, but couldn't help chuckling. Rimfire was laughing hard, too. "Walked right into that one, eh Coach?" he called over his shoulder as he strode towards the ship. Still chortling he climbed the first two steps that led up to the cockpit of the ship before vaulting nimbly into the ship.

Watching Rimfire board, Stoker didn't see the smaller fawn coloured hand reached for his arm. He jumped. Rimfire's twin sister smiled apologetically and murmured quietly "Thanks Stoker for doing all of this." Primer's fur was exactly the same fawn colour as her brothers, except where his hair was dark brown with an orange skunk stripe; Primer's was all a long, glorious sheet of straw blonde.

"No sweat, princess." The older mouse wrapped his arms around her willowy figure. She smiled shyly, a smile that would have stolen the hearts of many men colder than Stoker. Grasping the last bag, she too climbed up the ladder into the ship.

"Oh, and princess?" Stoker suddenly grinned, his thumbs through his belt loops. She paused halfway up the ladder and glanced down at him. "Make sure when you get to earth, you give those boys hell for me." He chuckled at the wide impish grin that spread across her face.

Rimfire's head suddenly poked back out of the ship entrance. "You going to get the door for us, Coach?"

The brown furred mouse nodded his assent. Even as he did, the overhead lights snapped on bathing the entire hanger in brilliant white light. Then a lot of things happened at once.

A cold metallic voice echoed around the hanger. "You are ordered to immediately surrender to the authority of the Martian army."

At the same time, Stoker instinctively spun on his heels and shot to the hanger door.

And Rimfire shut the ship door with a clunk. If Lady Luck was still feeling generous, their plan would work. The Martian soldiers would think that Stoker was alone in his efforts of grand theft auto: space style. Stoker would get the hanger door open and make a run for it. The Martian army would think he was alone and trying to escape and follow in hot pursuit. No one would think to scout the hanger for more freedom fighters or close the hanger door while they chased after Stoker. This meant that the twins were free to get out the minute the army turned their well-ironed and stiffly-starched backs.

Stoker quickly reached the hanger door and hit the release buttons. Thank god he had slept with the right mouse to tell him which buttons activated the quick release for the hanger doors. They whirred and squealed on their chains as they slowly began to draw back. The noise was deafening. More to the point, their extreme racket overshadowed the noise of the ship next to him as Rimfire began firing up.

Well, that wasn't part of the original plan, but it might work just as well.

"Stoker!" a harsh new female voice joined. "We know it's you. Give it up." The general sounded weary. A small group of soldiers surrounded the raven haired general. All of whom had their guns trained on the brown furred mouse.

Give up? Well that just wasn't a concept that Stoker was familiar with. By the look of it, Rimfire nearly had the ship at full capacity. Any minute now the great turbo jets at the back of the ship would burst to life and the twins would be away with little that Carbine could do about it. So why would he throw in the towel now? Especially when the soldiers hadn't realised Rimfire and Primer were inside the ship. It would seem that Lady Luck was just spoiling Stoker now.

An instant later, Rimfire had reached capacity and the dark orange ship surged forward and down the runway, narrowly missing the still opening hanger doors.

His hair swayed back with the rush of the ship, and shielding his eyes against the heat and bright burn of the engines Stoker watched as Rimfire coaxed the ship off the runway and into the inky night. He smiled. The general was going to be beside herself when she realised what had really happened and who had just made it into orbit. And Stoker made a point of never missing one of Carbine blunders.

Sure enough the general's anger was in fine form when hearing returned to his ears. It would be a long night. The good general didn't believe in abridged version of an ear blasting.

Stoker shook his head, a small smile turning the corners of his lips as he strode back towards Carbine. Time to face the music.

...

The green light of the clock glowed three nineteen.

Throttle and Vinnie had packed up their game of 'Go Fish' when Vinnie won the fifth game straight. That had been hours ago. But Modo still remained outside, in stony silence.

Inside the scoreboard Throttle lay in his hammock and watched his friend outside anxiously. The dark silhouette of the grey mouse contrasted against the glittering city lights. Without his glasses Throttle couldn't make out exact edges or fine detail. What he could see was the dark shape of his friend against the bright blur of city nightscape. And Modo hadn't moved for a long time.

Something was wrong.

"Bro, you awake? Think we should get out there?" Vinnie whispered, cutting into Throttle's thoughts. Vinnie's white fur glowed green in the reflected clock light. "I don't think the Big Fella's okay."

Yeah, something was definitely up if Vincent picked up on it. Throttle rolled over, yawning and pushing his long caramel hair out of his eyes.

"I think you're right."

Chicago's night light gleamed off the shiny metal side mask on the right half of Vinnie's face as he grinned. "I usually am. Kinda goes as part of the job of being the baddest mamma jammers this side of Betelgeuse."

Throttle rolled his eyes in the darkness, but didn't bother responding. Vinnie would be Vinnie, at any hour of the morning. Reaching for his glasses Throttle followed the smaller mouse out onto the balcony.

The night air was crisp. There would be frost tonight, and the first snow would arrive before too long. Throttle didn't notice the cold so much, but he saw Vinnie rubbing his hands together and blowing into them. Modo didn't seem to notice either. But right then Modo wouldn't have noticed a train rolling over his tail. His face held no reaction as Throttle and Vinnie stepped out, continuing to glare angrily out into the night.

Throttle leaned his forearms against the cold guardrail, matching Modo's stance. Vinnie was rubbing his arms furiously in an effort to keep to the blood flowing.

"Hey bro, it's kinda cold out here, you wanna come in for a while?" Vinnie asked hesitantly after a moment.

Modo's one un-patched eye glowed a dull red as the grey mouse fought to keep a lid on his emotion. "No. And you don't have to be out here." His eye returning to normal.

Throttle shook his head as Vinnie opened his mouth to respond. 'Let it go' he mouthed behind Modo. The white mouse opened his mouth again, but just shrugged instead.

Modo continued to stare stormily out at the city.

Throttle watched Vinnie hop from foot to foot, rubbing his arms. "Vin, get inside. You're going to freeze your tail off out here."

Vinnie looked ready to protest, but again noting Throttle's subtle shake of his head, thought better of it. "Well, if you're sure?" he muttered and trudged slowly back inside.

For a while neither tan nor grey mouse spoke. The noise of the city hummed in the background.

"City looks good by night doesn't it?" Throttle asked after a moment.

Modo shrugged, unimpressed. Somewhere nearby a car alarm pierced the night air with its banshee wail.

"You wanna talk?"

Modo sighed, his shoulders and ears slumping visibly. "Doesn't change nothing."

"Doesn't change what? Come on Big Fella, what's got your tail in a knot?"

Modo turned his one eye on Throttle, glaring hard at the caramel coloured mouse before exhaling explosively. "Tail in a knot? What's got my tail in a knot? She's dead, that's what!"

Throttle flinched and that icy cold hand of dread clutched at the back of his neck. Reaching out, he set his arm around the large grey shoulders. He hung on tight even when Modo attempted to shake him off and tighter still when Modo's grief wracked his huge frame.

"She's dead. She's gone." Modo voice broke, and he swallowed hard. "And I didn't do a damn thing."

"Who, bro?" Throttle asked softly his voice even huskier than normal, as the great grey shoulders continued to heave silently.

After a moment Modo managed to pull himself together enough to quietly recount the conversation with Stoker for Throttle. In a flat, expressionless voice, Modo rehashed the injury and his sister's death. Throttle listened in silence, wondering if that made it easier for the Big Fella to talk about without his interruption to offer sympathy which would help no one and change nothing.

"I'm real sorry, Modo."

"Yeah," Abruptly Modo shook off Throttle's arm. "There's, uh, there's something else." Modo continued, his voice raw. He briefly stated that Stoker had sent Rimfire and Primer to Earth for a while. He paused at the end, clearing his throat, and rubbing his flesh hand over his eyes and muzzle trying to pass off wiping away fresh tears as just rubbing his eyes. It didn't fool either of them, but Throttle didn't comment.

For a couple of minutes neither mouse spoke. Then, slowly, Modo turned away from the guardrail to face Throttle. His grey face looked haggard and deeply pained. And despite what Modo had said tonight, Throttle had the feeling Modo wasn't done yet, and whatever else was coming wasn't good.

Inhaling deeply and squaring his broad grey shoulders. "When," Modo began, "when Primer and Rimfire are recalled to Mars," he broke off choking a little and unable to meet the other mouse's eyes, even through the shades. Swallowing Modo tried again: "Look, I know we're bros - aint nothin' that can change that, but they're my family and they need me. I've been selfish down here. So," he swallowed again. "So, when they head back to Mars, I'm going home with them.

Now, I won't leave you and Vinnie to finish Limburger without me, so we're going to get him before Rimfire and Primer leave." Modo's voice hardened, Throttle suspected with suppressed rage and grief. "Then," Modo sighed, "Then we can all leave. But this just aint my fight down here anymore. Not while they need me at home, bro. You can understand that, cant you?"

Throttle didn't answer. He didn't really know how to respond, or how to argue. Or whether what Modo was asking for was even wrong.

Modo was still looking at Throttle, expecting a response, almost seeking approval from the caramel coloured mouse. "I... yeah," Throttle nodded hurrying to respond. "I understand bro, Rimfire and Primer need you."

"Yeah." The grey mouse rumbled as he turned away and moved back towards the scoreboard. He paused at the door, one hand clutching the doorframe. "It seems all we do down here is wait. Wait for Limburger's next attack, wait for news from home. I'm just so tired of it."

The temperature outside seemed to have dropped again, and this time it didn't have anything to do with chill in the wind.


	2. Pressure Cooker

Chapter Two: Pressure Cooker

Throttle remained outside on the metal balcony long after Modo had finally been convinced to go to bed. There would be no way possible for the tan Martian to sleep now. The night air ruffled his hair lightly and buffeted his open leather jacket while he stood in the cold, brooding on what Modo had said.

"_It seems all we do here is wait." _

It was a valid point, Throttle conceded. But usually Limburger didn't give them much reprieve between his schemes to steal Chicago's natural resources. There wasn't much time to plan anything offensive while they were attempting to defend Chicago from Limburger.

"_I'm just so damn tired of it."_

But it was the fact that Modo was tired of it.

The planning of the Biker Mice's attacks on Limburger fell without fail to Throttle's shoulders. He hadn't asked for it. It just seemed to fit, a mantle he wore well, or at least he thought he had. But Modo was tired of the waiting game. Was he tired of Throttle's plans? Of Throttle's leadership, too?

"_You can understand that, cant you?" _

Was this going to be the end of the Biker Mice then?

The light outside turned the dark inky sky grey then the lightest of pinks before a hazy gold sun rose.

...

A few hours later and across town from Quigley Stadium, in a small mechanics garage, the radio beeped.

Groaning the owner of the garage hauled herself up from under the engine of a very ancient Chevy. Her hands were coated in grease and motor oil, so of course now would be the time for the boys to buzz her. It was their usual method of contacting her.

"Hang on, hang on." Charlene Davidson, or just Charley, owner of the _Last Chance_ garage, muttered, wiping some of the grease off on her dark jeans. She wiped the back of her hand across her forehead to try and push some of her long chestnut hair out of her face and mouth. The sticky feel on her forehead suggested she had just succeeded in smearing more grease across her face. The light blue work shirt she wore clung to her slim body with sweat. It was had been hot work this morning and despite the cold temperature she was perspiring.

"I swear you had better not be calling just to see if I've got food." She groused, running the faucet in the garage bathroom and lathering the soap. The water didn't answer her as it gushed noisily away. The yellowing tiles in the tiny bathroom matched the yellowing soap perfectly. "Because if you are, I'll find that nursery rhyme that says something instructive about butcher's carving knives and mouse tails." She told the equally weary young woman in the mirror.

The beeping continued in the other room.

Finally semi-free of grease she jogged for the radio. "Charley here, what's up guys?"

"Hey pretty lady! Thought you weren't there for a moment. What's for lunch?" Vinnie's voice greeted her from the other end.

She blew her bangs out of her eyes exasperatedly. "I don't know, Vin! I haven't had a chance to shop for groceries yet. Contrary to popular belief, I don't exist just to feed you guys."

"But you've still got hotdogs for us, right?" he didn't wait for a reply, even he knew when she was at the end of her tether. "We'll see you in ten." He ended the connection.

Growling under her breath, Charley heard the dead air and slammed down her own receiver. Picking up the discarded wash towel from the bathroom, she stalked back over to the waiting Chevy. At least it couldn't talk back.

Her head was back under the hood of the Chevy so she heard, rather than saw them, when the Biker Mice rolled into the garage twenty minutes later.

The Biker Mice minus Modo. But, with the addition of two plastic bags full of neatly wrapped sandwiches. Charley felt her eyebrows rise slightly. It was not normal to find the guys separated. Or that they had thought of lunch.

"Okay, what gives?" She asked taking a bag of sandwiches from Throttle's proffered hand and the other from Vinnie's tail as they climbed off their rides.

"Well, Vinnie said you didn't have any food, so suggested that we do the lunch-run for a change." Throttle replied, chuckling a little at the look of incredulity on the human girl's face.

"Wow, I'm impressed Vinnie."

"Yeah, I hear that a lot from the ladies." He smirked, but looked pleased too. "Course, I never tire of hearing that I impress _you_, babe." The green bandoleers that the white mouse wore across his otherwise naked white torso strained as he pumped his chest out with pride.

Charley rolled her bright jade eyes at the white furred mouse. "Okay Casanova." Then she smiled more genuinely, "Thanks Vinnie, the sandwiches was a great idea."

"What? These are just for us. You should have said you were hungry." He jabbed his elbow into her ribs teasingly as he followed her into the small kitchen, adjacent to the garage. "Well, all right you can have one. Chef Andy said you like chicken salad." Chef Andy ran the local sandwich joint, known for providing the locals with the best hoagies that Chi Town had to offer.

"Andy also said we needed to give our stomaches a rest from the hotdogs." Vinnie continued, his voice sounded slightly disbelieving at the end, as if the old war vet with greying flecks in his once bright red hair might be sadly mistaken on this point.

Charley pulled out one of the wrapped sandwiches from the dozen or so in the bag. It had 'Chicken Salad' written on the side followed by 'Leave for Charley, or else...' and a big picture of a mousetrap. She smiled. The old chef had a wonderful sense of humour.

Her smile faded as she glanced between the two mice who had silently set about unwrapping sandwiches and helping themselves to the chairs and her root beers from the refrigerator. The cosy once-cream-coloured-but-now-faded-and-yellowing kitchenette immediately diminished in size with the two mice in it.

They were tucking into the hoagies with total abandon. It certainly didn't seem as though they were going to save any for their grey furred friend. But neither Vinnie nor Throttle seemed inclined to share why that was. So Charley was going to have to pry.

"Should we save Modo any of these?" she asked innocently, holding up two of the sandwiches. Vinnie grimaced and silently shook his head. Throttle just looked out the small kitchen window muttering "With everything that's just happened, I doubt the Big Fella's gonna be feeling all that hungry."

She raised her eyebrow expectantly. "You feel like elaborating on that at all?"

Throttle sighed and brought the fourth member of the Biker Mice up to speed.

...

The pinprick stars blurred past the ship's windows. The retired Martian army ship was definitely not the way to travel. It was old, it creaked and groaned (never a good thing when you're in hyperspace, since you can't just pull over) and it shuddered violently whenever Rimfire tried to coax it to go a little faster. The dark, dingy cabin smelt heavily of burnt dust, grease and stale tobacco. All those quintessentially army smells. If one could smell boredom, the cabin would stink of that, too.

Primer sat curled up in one of the few chairs on the ship. It definitely wasn't comfortable. The old grey leather had rubbed bare in patches, other parts poked into her and the foam stuffing inside the chair had disintegrated. But she didn't care. Her long blonde hair fell like a sheet around her, hiding her wet eyes. She had needed to be strong. Someone had to be strong to face the pain and pity that was in everyone's eyes. Someone had to be the rock that her grandmother and brother so desperately needed to anchor them. She had tried to step up to the task gallantly.

But she hurt, too. So much.

Everything was different now. But it was Rimfire that had changed the most. Her brother was having trouble dealing with his grief, there was no denying that. For the first couple of days after their mother's death he hadn't eaten, or slept, or spoken. He had been a shell of the former cheerful and happy brother that she had previously known. And been envious of too, if she were honest. Rimfire had all the confidence, aplomb and popularity that had led Primer, quiet by comparison, to be often overlooked.

Grief manifests in many forms. Primer recognised that. So she was not surprised by the rage that Rimfire felt. His rage was always directed at the plutarkians for killing their mother, but also at times directed at their mother for leaving them. Primer didn't like it, the intensity of his anger scared her, but she accepted that it was part of the grieving process. And never did she judge him for it either. How could she, when at times she felt exactly the same, too?

Stoker had been good for Rimfire, knowing what to say and what not to. He and Rimfire were close despite the fifteen years age gap between them. Stoker provided one of the few stable male figures in the twin's life. Between the disappearance of their father, shortly before the twins' birth and Modo's crashlanding on Earth, Stoker was the only one who had stayed permanent in their lives. Primer had assumed that Stoker was getting through to her twin, since at Stoker's insistence Rimfire had started eating and sleeping again. But the planning and scheming had been Rimfire's own invented therapy. He had been busy planning his own wild attacks on the Plutarkian bases. She hadn't thought too much on it. If it let Rimfire work through his grief and rage, then she was okay with it. And the planning _had_ seemed to calm her rebellious twin. She hadn't paid much attention to his wild ideas.

Until he had put these plans in motion. Her partially completed degree in psychology told her these attacks were a method of trying to assert some sort of control over the situation, satisfy a need for vengeance, and cathartic release. Not necessarily all healthy responses, but understandable nonetheless.

But as his sister, she was furious. She didn't judge him, no, but that didn't mean she was still damn angry with him. How dare he put himself in such needless danger? It was so selfish of him, because he didn't stop to think what his death (gods forbid it) would do to their grandmother. Or to Primer. She couldn't lose him, too.

Rimfire wasn't the only one who was feeling her fury. Stoker was also targeted with her anger. She hadn't believed the older mouse for a second when he said he had had no idea that Rimfire was planning those attacks. And even if he _had_ been kept in the dark, Stoker had still been entirely responsible for engineering the twins' current joyride through space. The brown furred mouse had simply walked into their apartment and just said bluntly that it would be better for Rimfire to take some time out on Earth, and that they should both pack because they were leaving that night. He hadn't even bothered to check what the twins they themselves had wanted.

What Primer had wanted. Nineteen years old - just three months shy of turning twenty - and still being overlooked. That hurt, too.

She had meant what she had said to Stoker, she was grateful he was getting Rimfire out of harm's way. It was just that she hadn't needed to be sent along for the ride. But they were twins, neither one thought of as a single entity. Therefore, if Rimfire had to go, then Primer had to go, too.

And on top of everything else, she missed her mother.

Yeah, everything was going to be very different now. More tears spilt from her eyes. Stuffing her fists into her mouth she managed to keep the sound down, apart from a sharp gulp of air. Her shoulders shook.

"Primer?" Rimfire had emerged from the cockpit for a moment. His hands wrapped around her shoulders and shook her lightly, bringing her back to reality. "What happened?"

What happened? Did he really just ask that? Couldn't the fool tell? What's happened is that I don't even recognise you anymore. How's that for a start? She thought, but couldn't say.

"Mom," she murmured a little sheepishly with a watery smile. "I miss her." And it was true, too.

"Oh," he paused. "Me too." He looked so awkward, she thought, just standing there leaning forward as if to hug her, but at the last moment pulled back and patted her on the shoulder.

He turned and headed back into the cockpit. Primer buried her head in her arms again, as a new wave of tears broke.

Yeah, maybe she wasn't doing such a stand up job of being everyone's rock, after all.

And the countdown until touchdown on earth had begun. Four hours eleven minutes...

...

Charley leaned her forehead against the cool glass of the garage office door. She had just switched the sign on the door to 'closed.' The glass was cool on her skin. Her breath fogged up the glass like a dragon's breath. It was the only part of her that felt warm right now. Her head had that familiar spinning feeling. This wasn't the first time since meeting the Biker Mice that she had felt herself in information and emotional overload.

Poor Modo, Poor Rimfire. Her heart was aching for them.

After filling her in on the events of the last twenty-four hours, Throttle had suggested that Charley head over to the scoreboard after she had finished work for the day and see the twins once they arrived.

Sure, as if she was going to go back to work after she had heard what Modo had just been through? And as if, as a mechanic and a self-respecting Earth citizen, she was going to miss the landing of a certified alien spaceship? So instead she had taken up the guys offers to help her finish up with the Chevy and close the garage early.

Throttle and Vinnie had left as soon as Charley had declared that she didn't need any more assistance with the Chevy. They had been worried about Modo and trying not to show it. Stupid, macho males.

She traced the cracked black painted letters of the back-to-front _Last Chance Garage_ written on the glass pane in the door. Poor, poor Modo. The grey mouse's family meant so much to him; she couldn't even begin to imagine how he must be feeling. She wasn't the least bit surprised by Throttle's revelation that Modo was planning to return with his family to Mars. It was a completely understandable reaction. But what would Vinnie and Throttle do when the grey mouse left? Return with him to Mars or stay here on earth? They'd return too, Charley wagered.

And oh God, what would she do if they did leave? Chicago would be left to its sad fate. And Charley would be left to hers.

Shoving that horrible thought to the back of her mind, she forced herself to think of more immediate and pressing issues. After all, nothing had been decided yet. No point in worrying herself sick just yet. Save that for later at night when she was alone and could fall apart in peace. Not now. Not when she had to get cleaned up and head over to Quigley Stadium.

Yeah, panic later. The guys would just feel worse if they knew she was about to do something girly like curl up on the floor and start blubbering.

Forty-five minutes later a freshly scrubbed Charley stood out the front of Quigley Stadium. She stood straddling her motorcycle that couldn't think for itself, couldn't drive itself, couldn't communicate with her and wasn't brimming with alien technology light-years away from anything she had ever encountered before, but would never, ever, leave her and return home.

Stop it, Charlene. That's not fair, and this isn't about you right now.

Still berating herself, she grabbed her purse and quickly climbed the steps quickly into the stadium and followed a well-known route that would get her to the guys bachelor pad.

"Guys?" she pushed the door open into the main rectangular room. "Anyone home?" she called fighting the little rebellious voice in her head that said this isn't really their home...

"I'm here, the Eagle can land now?" She called to the empty room and more importantly to quieten the voice in her head. She poked her head into the first of the two additional rooms, the boys' bedroom where three empty hammocks hung. The second room was the guys' bathroom. Seriously, she thought, no woman should ever step foot in there. Never ever. Speaking of which, what was Primer going to do -

"Charley – ma'am? Did I hear you?" Modo's deep, rumbling voice interrupted her musings.

She had steeled herself not to cry when she saw Modo. But as soon she saw the grey mouse, she couldn't help the tears from welling up. Not trusting her voice, Charley just nodded. It was bad enough that her lower lip trembled. Without a word she rushed to embrace the grey mouse.

"S'okay." He mumbled wrapping his arms around her too. "Just gotta keep on going. That's what she'd want."

She nodded against his fur. Blinking back tears.

"Charley-girl! Thought we heard you!" Vinnie's voice called from just beyond the scoreboard in the back row of the stadium's bleachers.

Modo released the human girl and headed back outside, pausing in the doorway to hold the door for Charley.

"Hey babe, you made it." Throttle smiled as Charley sat down in one of the white seats in the row in front of Vinnie and the tan mouse. "That Chevy give you any grief after we'd gone?"

Charley folded her arms in mock indignation "Nothing Chi-Town's best couldn't handle." She smirked but her voice was still a little raw. Nor did her smile reach her eyes.

Modo sank into the seat next to her. He didn't grin or even try to smile. The tension and guilt he was feeling was evident. Every part of the mouse was rigid and his shoulders hunched.

"Do you think we ought to have told Rimfire and Primer to wait till nightfall before landing?" he asked, distractedly pulling the paper label off his still-capped root beer.

"At prime UFO-spottin' time? Nah. Have them arrive in broad daylight and no one will even notice them." Throttle joked leaning back on the plastic chair complacently.

Modo nodded, but didn't look reassured. Throttle's smile faded.

Modo had to stop blaming himself, Throttle thought glancing at the grey mouse out of the corners of his field specs. There was nothing the Big Fella could have done differently. Not even if he had been on Mars at the time. But Modo couldn't see this, and had definitely not been prepared to hear it from Throttle. Modo would castigate himself till the end of his days for his sister's death. No reason given would be sufficient to convince him otherwise.

Modo didn't have long to look agitated though, because a small shining spec suddenly sparkled beside the winter sun.

"Bros, it looks like we have incoming Martians!" Vinnie exclaimed bounding to his feet, and spilling his root beer over Throttle in the process.

"Ugh! Vincent!"

Vinnie just snickered and pulled Charley from her seat.

"Come on sweetheart, wanna see how a real landing works, without having to demolish the local baseball stadium's scoreboard?" Vinnie head bobbed around Charley to grin wickedly at Throttle, at the reference to Throttle's ill-fated first landing on Earth four years previous. Throttle scowled darkly at the white-furred mouse.

"Yeah, but the ship was burning up, Vin. And the steering handlebars had broken off,"

"And who broke 'em off?" Modo rumbled quietly from the other side.

"I did." Throttle conceded ruefully. He brushed what he could of the root beer off his leather jacket. Thankfully it hadn't spilt too badly on his pants. He was more than happy to be the butt of the joke if it meant that Modo might regain some of his previous cheer. Or get some sort of life back into him, however short-lived it might be.

Throttle's musings were however cut short with the rapid approach of the incoming spacecraft. The great, inelegant vessel began to slowly descend over the grassy pitch of Quigley Stadium.

Modo's bottle of root beer shattered all over the concrete stairs of the stadium as the grey mouse shot down towards the pitch. Abandoning their own bottles Vinnie, Throttle and Charley surged in the grey mouse's wake.

The spaceship's ramp was already descending as the Mice and Charley reached the pitch. Modo reached the pitcher's mound first and stood at the top of the mound, but looked like a man might when he faces Mount Everest. Completely incapable of taking another step towards the lowered ramp, and closing the physical and metaphorical distance between his family and himself. In the middle of Chicago, Illinois was his own personal Everest.

Not that it mattered. As soon as the ramp reached the grass a voice bellowed "Uncle Modo!" and a fawn coloured blur barrelled onto the pitch. There was no judgement or disapproval in Modo's nephew's face or smile as he launched himself at his uncle.

And that, Vinnie thought smiling, was exactly what the grey mouse needed right then. Nothing less would have enough for the Big Fella to take that step and close the distance.

"Rimfire!" Modo's voice was shaky as he returned Rimfire's bone crushing hug with equal force. Modo squeezed his eye tight against the tears that were starting to leak from his eye. Vinnie watched the two mice embrace. Both were on the verge of tears and trying not to show it.

Whoa! Well she aint half bad! The white mouse thought as a second figure stepped shyly down the ramp. Unlike Rimfire, who was still wearing his khaki green fatigues, Primer had changed into something more causal and comfortable. As she stood silently next to her brother, it was made clear just how tall she was. There was maybe two or three inches between the twin's height, which made Primer very tall for a Martian female, who typically were shorter. But she was very slender. Her white denim skirt stopped about mid thigh and showed the flow of her shapely legs down to small white tennis shoes. A purple t-shirt hung over her willowy frame and still managed to accentuate her curves. The v-cut of the t-shirt also managed, without any trouble, to draw Vinnie's attention to her—

To Throttle's shoulder. Vinnie shook his head as his tan-furred bro stepped in front of his vision and gently hugged the girl. Vinnie shook his head once more. He needed to get a grip, this was Modo's niece.

"Hey there." Throttle murmured softly. "It's good to see you again." Primer nodded. Throttle patted her back sympathetically as he hugged her.

But brotherly, Vinnie surmised quickly. The blushing blonde was not his bro's type. This thought made Vinnie inexplicably happier. No, he thought, Throttle likes his women more confident and independent, and this babe doesn't radiate either.

And she's still Modo's niece, a little voice muttered in his head. If ever there was a lady off limits...

Still, that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy the scenery. Which he fully intended to do.

"Long time no see, doll-face." He smiled as he too moved towards her to hug her as well. he couldn't explain why he felt his throat stick. Despite what his bro's thought, he could actually talk to women. And he didn't strike out quite as much as Modo and Throttle like to think that he did.

"Don't even think about it, Vin," Rimfire's voice cut through the air. Vinnie's had snapped up guiltily.

"What? I can't even say hi?"

"Don't want to have to hurt ya" Rimfire smirked mockingly, "I've, er, heard what you're like with the ladies. Don't want to have to hurt ya." he repeated again.

Primer rolled her eyes at her brother and stepped forward to hug Vinnie. He didn't have to stoop at all; he and Primer were exactly the same height. "Hi, Vinnie." She smiled shyly.

Awkwardly she raised her arms around his neck she tilted her head left, at the same time he tilted his right. Their noses met as their faces bumped together.

Primer was sure she had never been more embarrassed in her life. The white furred mouse was very good looking, despite the shield plating over half his face. Vinnie's broad shoulders were exposed and the muscles moved fluidly under her arms, and the green bandoleers hid none of his muscular chest and back. The blue denim jeans also left little to the imagination, outlining his toned legs and narrow waist. All in all, he was a very attractive package. And she had brilliantly made a complete idiot out of herself in front of him. Excellent.

Vinnie, unperturbed, just laughed. "Babe, I don't normally kiss on the first date, but I'm willing to make an exception this time." There only a slight blush on his face compared with the flashing fire engine red that she was sure she was turning.

Awkwardly and hurriedly she tried to untangle her arms from his neck. "Ah, I'm sorry." She ducked her head down, hoping her long hair would cover her extreme humiliation. It didn't really work. And one of Vinnie's silver studs in his left ear caught in her fur as she tried to withdraw her arms.

"Ow." He mouthed. His lower lip jutting out a little.

"Sorry! Sorry." She mumbled trying to loosen her fur from his stud. He couldn't help it, he grinned. Her flushed, pink cheeks and extreme embarrassment made her very cute.

"Well, Vincent is in fine form with the ladies." Throttle chuckled, shaking his head. "And what's this crap about not kissing on the first date?"

Vinnie turned, sighing theatrically, "I try to be a gentleman, but when the ladies wanna kiss ya, they wanna kiss ya. What can I say? Gotta give them what they want." He smirked, "sometimes they just don't wanna let go. So just ask next time, sweetheart." He winked turning back to Primer.

Did the humiliation never stop?

Primer glanced down, cheeks aflame. Vinnie's reaction hadn't helped one little bit. Where was that hole in the floor when you needed it? Or better yet she could just jump back on the rusty old death trap of a spaceship and get out of here. Even Plutark looked preferable to utter humiliation on Earth.

"Smooth, Vin." Modo murmured as he moved hesitantly over to greet his niece. "Are you alright?"

She nodded and then swallowed hard. Rimfire had warned her that during the battle for the Tug Transformer Modo had been injured. She even knew his arm had been replaced. But she still caught off guard seeing in the flesh. Or metal. And his eye was gone. No-one had mentioned that. He always had such warm eyes. She worked hard to repress a shudder at the thought of what her poor uncle had been through. And if she were going to be honest, Modo's metal arm frightened her a little. It had a cannon within it, for crying out loud.

He was still waiting for her to answer him. Was she alright? Here was her mother's brother, who'd been so mutilated by Plutarkians that she barely recognised him. Her mother was dead, and she'd just made a royal fool out of herself.

"Yeah, I'm fine." She murmured, welcoming the reprieve to hug her uncle and be completely concealed from view. She tried not to recoil at the cool touch of the metal of Modo's arm through the cotton of her t-shirt. It was still him. She tried to tell herself. But it was the work of those in league with Plutarkians, and they had killed her mother.

At the very least she thought, trying to distract herself from Modo's arm, maybe she'd get lucky and while she was concealed in her uncle's embrace, everyone else would forget about her.

No such luck, Vinnie was still watching her once Modo had released her. He smiled broadly. She didn't meet his gaze and deliberately glanced away instead.

Vinnie watched her a moment longer. Her hair caught the wind as she looked away and blew the long golden sheet across her face. He wanted to pull the honey curtain aside so he could those soft eyes and shy smile once more. Even windswept and exhausted from space travel she looked so cute. She wasn't a knockout like Harley, but she was beautiful. Windswept like she was, Primer looked like Venus about to step out of her clam, he thought. Too bad that she wasn't naked like Venus was though, now that would be a sight to see...

But imagining his bro's niece naked was probably not a good idea if he wanted his nose to remain in its current shape. Modo and Rimfire would waste little time in bending his face into a new shape if they had even the slightest inkling of what direction Vinnie's thoughts were taking. She was so wholly off limits.

"So Vinnie, do I need to worry about you and my sister?" Rimfire asked amused. He was still standing next to Throttle. Throttle still had an arm slung round Rimfire's shoulders. Gods the twins had grown. Rimfire was only a couple of inches shorter than Throttle, which definitely made him taller than Vinnie. He still had some filling out to do yet, still a little gangly. But it was clear that he was going to take after his uncle in stature if nothing else.

Vinnie just chuckled.

Still on the peripheral of the group, Charley cleared her throat. "Since these lummoxes haven't introduced us yet, I'm Charley." She held out her hand to Primer with a smile.

All three of the Biker Mice looked slightly sheepish.

Primer grinned shyly and didn't make eye contact. God, Charley thought, the girl desperately needs some confidence, or she is going to get steam rolled by the testosterone around here. But her grip was firm on Charley's hand.

"It's nice to meet you," Primer murmured. Her voice was deeper than Charley had expected, but it had a very warm feel to it, despite being quiet.

"Charley!" Rimfire exclaimed as if he'd only just noticed the human girl in their midst. He bounded over to her and wrenched her off the ground into a huge embrace. Primer stepped back quietly.

"I thought these guys would have pissed you off royally by this point!" Rimfire yelped as he swung her around.

Charley giggled in the young mouse's embrace and nodded throwing a particularly meaningful look at the white mouse, replied "Oh believe me, they've tried."

The white mouse in question merely shrugged and attempted nonchalance with "Admit it, you love us, sweetheart."

Charley and Rimfire glanced at each other and both rolled their eyes.

Conversation around the groups seemed to have stuttered to a halt. Modo looked increasingly uncomfortable and as if the waterworks might start any moment as he took in his niece and nephew standing in front of him.

"Oh, Uncle Modo," Primer murmured, seeing her uncle's distress and the tears starting to well in his remaining eye. Modo looked even more uncomfortable now, with the additional attention. He looked away for a moment and then down at his hands.

"I..." he started but didn't finish.

Primer hugged him hard from the tips of her toes. His arm didn't seem so frightening when he looked so much like a lost child. A seven-foot tall lost child. Rimfire also took a step towards Modo but paused as if he too wasn't quite sure what proper procedure was here. Primer seized his arm too and dragged him over. The three of them stood their arms locked around each other. One family with three broken hearts.

Throttle, Vinnie and Charley looked away. Privacy was still a precious and rare commodity.

"What do you think about some food?" Charley asked, turning to Throttle.

Throttle nodded. "Food could be good."

"Hotdogs and root beer? No more sandwiches?" Vinnie ventured hesitantly.

"I thought you liked Chef Andy's hoagies?" Charley asked, her eyebrow hiking and a slightly disbelieving edge to voice. "You certainly managed to put them away."

"Yeah," Vinnie agreed, "But we Mice can't survive without hotdogs. I feel weak already!" he finished howling theatrically.

His wailing broke up the other three's reunion. "Maybe we should get some food, then?" Modo murmured still unsure where to look.

That was all the confirmation Vinnie needed. He whistled loudly. His red racer and Modo and Throttle's bikes suddenly appeared at the top of the stairs leading from the scoreboard. Their handlebars swung from side to side, as if looking for their boys. Vinnie whistled again and the bikes leapt the stairs in a single bound and launched themselves on to the pitch. Vinnie pounced onto his bike before Charley could even blink. Throttle's black and chrome Soft Tail and Modo's purple and gold Fat Boy rolled up to their respective mice.

Modo swung a long leg over his bike. "Um, hop on, nephew." Modo rumbled, his hand moving out to almost touch Rimfire's shoulder, but couldn't quite complete the motion. Rimfire didn't seem to notice his uncle's uncertainty as he leapt onto the purple and gold cruiser.

"Jump on, pretty lady!" Vinnie called as he straddled his bright red racing bike. Without waiting for a response he wrapped his tail around Primer's waist and hoisted her onto the back of his bike with his tail.

Charley had also taken a step towards Vinnie as he had spoken, and felt herself blushing. She had just been so used to that being her name, Vinnie's pet name for her. She moved back a bit feeling foolish. Really, she supposed, he probably called every girl that. She wondered stupidly for a moment how she was going to get back to the garage. It was going to be quite a walk.

"Come on, Charley-girl. Climb on." Throttle said, rolling his bike towards the mechanic with a soft smile.

"You okay?" he asked after a moment. She settled herself behind him and wrapped her arms tightly around his torso. His back was warm. "You're quiet."

"Just a long day." She figured she could pass off her embarrassment over Vinnie moving his affections to another target, on exhaustion. Even if Vinnie was only joking around with Primer, he was doing exactly what he used to do with her.

"And you figured Vinnie might show a little more sensitivity and creativity in his name choices?" Throttle added shrewdly, not buying her excuse for a moment.

"No, no. I mean," she swallowed well aware she wasn't making the greatest sense. "I mean, I found the attention flattering but I never wanted to date him. I mean, we'd kill each other."

She felt Throttle's frame vibrate with his laughter. "That's no lie."

"So I suppose Vinnie is at complete liberty to enjoy Primer's company. But." She broke off quickly realising her mouth was running away from her. She wasn't about to sook to Throttle. She waved her hand and shook her head. And then realised that with his back to her, he couldn't see her or her actions.

"But?" he prodded.

"But," she sighed a little, giving in. "It was nice that even in scruffy clothing, someone thought I looked pretty."

Throttle chuckled softly again. "Charley, you've always been pretty, no matter what you're wearing or how much grease you're coated in."

Charley smiled a little embarrassedly.

...

The garage took almost no time to reach. It never did when the Mice were driving. Vinnie and Primer were already waiting when Throttle and Charley pulled up to the Last Chance Garage. Primer stood a little away from Vinnie. Clearly she still felt uncomfortable from before.

"What kept you?"

Throttle ignored Vinnie's jibes. "More to the point, where's the Big Fella? He left before we did."

Vinnie shrugged uninterestedly. "Took the scenic route? They'll get here just the same."

Charley had just unlocked the garage and turned the stove on for hotdogs when the familiar purr of Modo's bike pulled up. Modo hopped off his purple princess and looked over to where Rimfire was climbing off his own bike. No, make that Charley's blue bike.

"Hope you don't mind Charley-ma'am? We realised that you had left it by Quigley Stadium. Thought you might want it back?" Rimfire asked, pulling his helmet off and tucking it under his arm earnestly.

Charley felt her checks grow hot. She had completely forgotten that she had driven the bike over to the scoreboard. "Thanks. How did you get it to start without the key?"

Rimfire jerked a thumb towards his uncle. "Uncle Modo's bike overrode the system, I think. But it's a great bike you've got there."

Charley swelled with pride. It was a good bike. One she'd built from scratch. "Thanks, I'm pretty proud of it."

He smiled and put his helmet gently on its crankcase and headed over to the couch where Vinnie and Throttle were already making themselves at home.

Lunch was tense. There was no other way to describe it. The euphoria felt at seeing the twin's again was wearing off, and it was clear, Charley thought, that seeing their uncle, their mother's brother reminded them of their loss. Modo too, said little, barely able to look at either Rimfire or Primer now and didn't touch his root beer. The kitchenette was already small with just the Biker Mice in it, diminished further with the five mice in it. Add the crackling tension, and the small room seemed to stretch to breaking point. It felt like eleven people squeezed into an elevator built for ten.

Hotdogs had never taken so long to cook.

"Good flight?" Charley asked at one point, to break the silence. Primer grimaced and Rimfire shook his head.

"No, Coach wanted to 'permanently borrow' an old ship so that the security would be minimal, making it easier to steal. On the downside, it meant that the ship was slow and creaky."

"Ah," she had no idea what to add to that. What does one say when they've just been told that their friends have stolen a ship?

Rimfire nodded. And no one seemed to know what to say next. Vinnie handled the stress worse than everyone else and resorted to flicking through the television channels like a madman.

Suddenly Tara Diddle, Chicago's leading newshound appeared in a red suit. Vinnie sat upright his attention on the attractive reporter. Whatever Diddle reported tended to relate to Limburger's schemes to decimate Chicago and always for Plutark's gains.

"_...The small nature reserve plays home to numerous bird species - many of which are indigenous to this area. The planned demolishment of the park is, according to a statement released by Limburger Tower's spokesperson, 'A regrettable but unavoidable necessity.' Unfortunately Lawrence Limburger himself, was unavailable for comment..."_ Diddle continued. In the background Limburger's machines were already beginning to chew through large chunks of dirt and deposit into a big vat. Even as Vinnie watched, the vat began to glow blue and then the earth vanished.

Next stop, Plutark. Vinnie wagered. There were very few times he was grateful for Limburger's scheming in Chicago. But for the interruption his latest doings provided, he was, this once grateful.

By this stage he wasn't the only one watching either. Every head was now trained on the small television screen.

Throttle had watched the screen intently. No question; Limburger was up to something. He would have liked a little more information before having to spring into action. In particular where Limburger had slunk off to that had made him unavailable for comment. Then he could find a contingency plan that would serve best. But that would involve waiting. Again Modo's tired complaint that all they do is sit around and wait popped into his head. Already, both Modo and Vinnie were watching him closely, waiting for him to give the 'okay'. Forget waiting then, action was needed. He turned to Vinnie and Modo and tried to sound more confident than he felt. "It would appear that Limburger wants to dig in the dirt for worms, bros." He tried to grin. It was forced, but in the room of tension, no-one seemed to notice.

"And you know what that means," Vinnie trailed off threateningly pounding his fist into his palm. "We wanna play too."

"It's time to ROCK," Throttle yelled.

"AND RIDE!" Both Vinnie and Modo roared with him. All three of them pumped their fists into the air and flew to their rides. The three bikes roared to life and spinning a tight one-eighty turn, the Biker Mice shot out the garage and down the road.

Rimfire's eyes glowed with excitement. And vengeance. He too had scrambled up from the table with the other three. He hurtled to the garage where he had left his helmet on Charley's bike. But instead of launching himself into the air and onto Modo's bike as his uncle left the garage, he swung a long leg over Charley's blue bike.

Finally, he thought as he wedged the helmet over his head. His ears pulled flat back to his skull. Finally those Plutarkians will pay. Down here, I might actually get to do something constructive for Mars. Down here I will make them pay. His fists clenched in fury, and his teeth ground so tightly that his jaw hurt from the rage. He had never known hate like this. All he needed now was a Plutarkian to unleash it upon.

By the gods, he vowed, they would pay. He would make damn sure of it. Whatever it cost.

Popping a wheelie on Charley's bike, Rimfire shot out the garage after the retreating backs of his uncle and his bros.

The small floral garage curtains fluttered in their wake.


	3. Teething Problems

**Apologies for long delays, RL getting in the way – thank you my darling BC Crossing for her encouragement! XX **

Chapter 3 Teething Problems

Across town in Chicago's tallest skyscraper, Lawrence Limburger sat quietly behind his great mahogany desk. With his fingers laced, he quietly brooded on events that had taken place that morning. The dim lighting of his office threw into sharp relief his grotesque profile, illuminating the lumps and bumps that weren't there on any normal human face. In the eerie light, Limburger could not quite pass for human. But for once he wasn't really trying to. Gone was the suave and polished veneer of Chi Town's wealthiest citizen. The typical arrogance and self-indulgence he wore like a cloak that disguised his true nature been cast aside. Sitting alone in his office, with his confidence stripped from him, Limburger was scared to his core. His great plutarkian mass trembled like jelly. He was in real trouble, really, really big trouble.

It had all begun with that awful time of the month which was the Plutarkian General Progress Meeting. It was his own personal hell. The meeting required him to report back to his superior fish exactly what progress he had made on stealing the natural resources of Earth. Or more accurately the shameful lack of progress he had made on harvesting the Earthly resources. He couldn't even strip the paltry city of Chicago of resources let alone the entire planet. And most humiliatingly he would have to admit his failures right after Dominic T. Stilton would report success after success. Stilton and Limburger had had a long standing feud ever since Limburger had tried unsuccessfully to undermine Stilton who at that time had been Limburger's commanding fish, and then usurped with Stilton's doctor, Karbunkle.

Limburger had watched in silence as every other plutarkian listed their successes, drumming his fingers on the top of the counter as dread pooled in his belly. This month had been worse than normal – even by his dismal standards. He had failed to relocate even a square inch of dirt to Plutark and worst of he had been forced to donate money to an orphanage – or the Biker Mice had threatened to reveal his true identity to the world. So Limburger had sat quietly and listened on the video link as other plutarkians listed achievement after achievement, victory after victory. Apparently there was now limited water left on the entire continent of Africa and oil was being smuggled out at an alarming rate from the Middle East. Then it came to Limburger's turn. He quickly muttered out his progress and tried to give some feeble excuses. At least he met Camembert's eyes. Limburger had not one shred of pride or dignity left, but he wasn't a coward.

The Lord High Camembert's eyes narrowed into slits.

"My, my," a slimy voice murmured a silky voice that wasn't Camembert's slid over the microphone. "You're not very imaginative, are you Limburger?" Stilton grinned. His face grinned back at Limburger on the main screen, but it was obvious from the way his eyes watched Camembert's face, whom Stilton was really addressing. "I think we heard this same sad, pathetic tale last time, did we not?" All around the monitor, the other plutarkian faces nodded and smirked.

Stilton continued. "Wasn't this the exact same story you told last month? Anyone would think you have no idea what you're doing down there?" he enunciated each word carefully.

Limburger stayed silent. He wasn't sure exactly what Stilton's game was yet, but he got the feeling it was well orchestrated.

Camembert's enormous face was bobbing in agreement with Stilton's "And the time before that,"

"And before that, Your Excellency." Stilton returned a sly smile tugging at his mouth. Limburger felt a cold sweat break across his neck. He licked his lips nervously.

Lord Camembert sighed loudly. "I don't know what to do with you Limburger. You make my head hurt just thinking about your numerous failures. I would not have believed anyone could find it this hard to send me dirt."

Stilton looked smug. "And last time it was water that you failed to send back, wasn't it?"

Camembert pursed his large fishy lips. Limburger could feel sweat starting to bead on his neck and a deep sense of foreboding coiled in his stomach.

"And before that, what was it Limburger? Oh, diamonds, that's right." Stilton continued his voice oily. "So many chances, so many failures. Such a disgrace to plutarkians everywhere." He shook his head as if in sympathy, all the while his cold eyes intently watching Camembert's face. "Reflects badly on all of us, even your superiors," Stilton continued his silky voice trailing off softly.

Camembert's eyes snapped open. "Enough!" he bellowed. Stilton obediently shut up and bowed his head with a nasty smile.

"Limburger, I cannot tolerate you or your colossal failures. You will be replaced within in twenty-four hours. I am recalling you to Plutark where you will face your Panel of Peers."

Limburger went cold. Stilton clamped a hand over his mouth to stifle a whoop of glee. This was obviously what he had been angling for, Limburger thought, his fear rising. He would have preferred anything but a Panel of Peers. It was plutarkian custom that if a fish was not believed to be doing his job he was summoned to court to present his case as to why he had not achieved his missions. The outcomes of these panels were almost always a foregone conclusion. Your peers were typically plutarkians who had achieved what the summoned plutarkian could not, and as a result had very little time or sympathy for failures. The punishment for incompetency was execution which was made a public spectacle to serve as a warning to all other fish knew that failure was not an option. And Limburger's panel would definitely include Stilton.

"Please your supreme creaminess, could we not come to some sort of arrangement, fish to fish, I mean?" Limburger almost begged

Camembert's already bulgy eyes nearly popped out his face. "Are you attempting to bribe me, Limburger?"

Limburger could feel the perspiration oozing out of his pores it was causing his mask to slide around on his face. "No, no, Your Eminences, I merely was asking you to give me but a little more time." He back-peddled, "I have just put into motions a plan that I do believe to be fail proof." He lied wildly, "If you can give me another month, not only will I provide the much needed resources, but in addition, I will send my own personal portion to yourself as a token of my extreme gratitude."

Stilton rolled his eyes at Limburger's pathetic grovelling. Camembert sighed. Limburger could tell he didn't want to have to go through the motions of an execution. Not because of any fondness he might feel for Limburger, but rather that Camembert didn't like getting his hands dirty or sight of blood. And if Limburger was found guilty of incompetence Camembert would have to be the one swinging the axe.

"Fine, Limburger, double the quantity of soil you were originally supposed to export and we'll consider sparing you."

Limburger swallowed hard, "Yes, your cheddar-ness."

"You have thirty days." Somewhere in the background Stilton's smug face laughed.

The video link snapped off abruptly and Limburger found himself staring at a black screen.

Limburger swallowed noisily. He had just promised Camembert everything he had never been able to achieve. Why not promise him the moon as well? But that was just being stupid. The moon was already plutarkian property; someone else had obviously thought to give Camembert that first.

Sweat continued to trickle down Limburger's neck. His mask felt clammy. He was going to die.

The decaying streets of Chicago whistled past as the Biker Mice raced towards the city outskirts. Rubble and building cluttered the streets. Brave few of the good citizens of Chicago ventured out this way anymore. The rapidly sinking sun did little to ease the feeling of neglect that permeated around this end of town.

Up ahead the nature reserve spread along the horizon line like a thick green felt-tip line. The smooth green line began to spike jaggedly into the different heights of the trees as guys rapidly approached. Also clearly visible and growing larger were Limburger's four enormous mechanical crab-like earth movers. The four machines had already converged on banks of the small pond and were tearing great mouthfuls of the soil away. A loud metallic crash from one of the mechanical crabs sent a flock of birds skywards, screeching their indignation.

Tapping some of the buttons on the top of his helmet, Throttle scanned the road ahead through the yellow visor. His mind was racing. He needed a plan that would be quick to execute. The Biker Mice couldn't compete against the brute strength of Limburger's machines, not if they wanted to win. But they did have speed on their side, and agility. If only they could find some way to heard the machines into a tight group, then they could –

"In coming!" Rimfire's excited voice yelled over the mice's helmet mics.

"What the hell?" Throttle growled, all thoughts of battle plans abandoned as Charley's blue racer sailed through the air overhead. Throttle yanked the handles of his own bike roughly, ignoring her beeping protests as he dragged his bike out of the way as Rimfire landed.

"Rimfire? What do you think you're doing?" Modo bellowed, concern making his tone harsher than he meant it to be.

"What?" Rimfire's voice sounded hurt. "You really thought I would sit this one out? Man, I just spent the last thirty-two hours in outer-space, I need to stretch my legs!"

"Here? Like this?" Modo still worried, "This isn't a game."

"Then why do you let Vinnie tag along?" Rimfire's helmeted face smirked towards the white mouse.

"Hey!" Vinnie shot a one fingered salute at Rimfire, "And you might want to keep practicing that landing, punk. Could have done better with my eyes shut," Vinnie shrugged a shoulder, "Just saying."

"Oh, yeah? Well - "

"Enough!" Throttle cut across the top of Rimfire's reply. The reserve was rapidly approaching, he was fast running out of time to plan a good attack. It had to be something that would confuse and herd the machines at the same time, then allow the mice to get a good couple of rockets aimed at the earth-munching crabs. Time was running out...

"Turn-and-Burn Number Fourteen!" he bellowed. "Modo, head left, Vin and I will go right. Rimfire; wait for our signal! Got it?" he turned his bike and skidded off in the direction he had just pointed.

Vinnie shot off as well, cackling loudly as he did. Modo glanced at Rimfire fleetingly before he too turned his bike.

"Hang on, which one is Turn-and-Burn Fourteen again?" Rimfire's voice called over the mic again.

Throttle groaned. This was why the kid should have stayed home, he thought. "No time now! Leave this one to us, kid."

"So what do I do?"

"Just wait there!"

"Well, fuck that." Rimfire muttered to himself as he slowed Charley's bike.

This wasn't what he had in mind at all.

"So this is all yours?" Primer asked slightly breathlessly. She stood in the centre of Charley's garage. Charley's suggested tour had so far started and only progressed as far as the workshop. Primer's wide eyes danced around the room taking in all the machinery and tools and the car engines in various stages of dissection.

"Yeah, it is now."Charley answered easily. "I'm head mechanic here – heck, I'm the only mechanic here."

Primer's eyes slid hungrily over the workshop. "That sounds like a lot of work for you?"

"No kidding."

Primer glanced at the human mechanic from under her long blonde eyelashes, "so would you be looking for help?"

Charley smiled, Primer's hinting was so transparent. Oh, what the hell? It might be nice to have some female company again. Might balance out the testosterone around here, she thought, then smiled broadly, "You know? I could well be."

The first excited - and genuine grin, Charley noted, stretched across the Martian's face.

Throttle and Vinnie dived and weaved around the legs of the first massive red machines. The quick skids and turns had the machines spinning in increasingly tight circles as the driver tried to fire at the mice. Tighter and tighter the mice spun forcing the machines into each other as they tried in vain to catch the Biker Mice. A squeal of metal echoed around the clearing as the first machine upended itself trying to hit Vinnie and landing heavily on its side with a thunderous crash.

The three remaining mechanic crabs teetered as if they too were about to fall any moment. Modo had just about succeeded on bringing down another as it creaked and groaned trying to keep balance.

"Not bad work bros," Throttle remarked over the guys helmets, the broad grin evident in his voice. "And now, I think it's time we brought these last fly boys back down to earth."

"Finally," breathed Rimfire excitedly. Hurriedly, he searched for the rockets on Charley's blue racer. There were none. He exhaled heavily, "Oh man, this sucks." He muttered quietly. He swung his gaze back to the red mechanical crabs. He could hear Vinnie's wild and hysterical laughter and saw the red racer land a few hundred feet from where Rimfire was positioned on the hillside.

"Anyone order one serve of the Vincent Van Wham special?" He howled as the claw of one of the machines came crashing down around him with a deafening clang.

A slow smile spread across Rimfire's face, maybe hanging out with Vinnie was about to pay off. He kicked Charley's bike into life and revved the engine a shot forward leaving angry tyre marks in the dirt.

"One serve of the Red-Hot-Rimfire coming up," He muttered under his breath. The bike revved under him. "One, two, three..."

Throttle gazed around the carnage that was Limburger's falling earth munching crabs. Limburger was losing. Nothing new there. He smiled grimly; it was looking like this day wouldn't turn out so badly after all. No sooner than the thought had crossed his mind, he felt, rather than saw Rimfire's bike sailing over his head for the second time that day.

"Need a side order of Rimfire to cool down, boys?" Rimfire called as the bike crashed heavily onto the top of the mechanical crab. Once he landed on the cab roof he leaped from his bike and somersaulted into the cab. The driver took one look at the boots arriving in his cabin and launched himself from the cabin.

"This is the life!" Rimfire yelled beating his fists around the dials and buttons inside. The gigantic crab stuttered and jerked awkwardly in a weird sort of dance before crashing heavily to the ground.

Rimfire jumped free, coiling his tail around Charley's bike and landing the bike neatly. Pulling his laser from his holster, he spun the gun on his finger.

Vinnie and Throttle succeeded in bringing down their mechanical crab. The quick skids and turns had the machine spinning in increasingly tight circles as the driver tried to fire at the mince. A squeal of metal echoed around the clearing as the first machine upended itself trying to hit Vinnie and crashing heavily on its side with a thunderous crash. The burly driver's scared face popped out of the door window before hoisting himself out of the machine and making a mad dash for the forest cover.

Vinnie snickered and waved to the retreating goon's back.

A laser pistol sounded from somewhere behind the two mice and suddenly the goon staggered mid-step and fell. Blood oozed from the base of his head and back and obviously dead.

"What was that about?" Vinnie asked turning to Throttle with a frown. "He wasn't going to fire at us, he was running away?"

Throttle nodded grimly still gazing at the corpse less than twenty yards away. "No need to tell me that, Bro. We'll deal with this later, finish Limburger's tower first."

Rimfire was breathing heavily. His whole body shook with rage. He couldn't explain it, even to himself. As soon as he had seen that goon's face he saw his mother's dying face, her body lying broken after the shrapnel tore through her leg and the most incredible rage had taken over. He had never known any emotion as strong as his hatred right then, hatred for plutarkian or anyone working with them. Vaguely he felt his uncle's arm wrap around his shoulders "Enough, come away."

He felt the red mist ebb slightly as he followed his uncle and his bro's.


End file.
